Turning the Tables
by Lil black dog
Summary: A view of the Denevan parasites through the eyes of someone you wouldn't expect. Can't say more without giving too much away. If this intrigues, you'll just have to read it to satisfy your curiosity. ;-) One needs a working knowledge of the TOS episode 'Operation—Annihilate' to understand this piece. Inspired by the free write 'In Your Dreams.'


A/N: A view of the Denevan parasites through the eyes of someone you wouldn't expect. Can't say more without giving too much away. If this intrigues, you'll just have to read it to satisfy your curiosity. ;-) One needs a working knowledge of the TOS episode 'Operation—Annihilate' to understand this piece. Inspired by the free write 'In Your Dreams.'

**Turning the Tables**

The pain was white-hot, instantaneous; seemed to rupture every nerve ending in his body simultaneously. For several minutes he had lost the power of rational thought, tears squeezed out through eyes squinted tightly shut, gut-wrenching screams trapped just below the stricture in his throat. _Get up_ was the impulse that pressed him.

_I won't … I can't _he wailed in his mind, but just when he thought the pain couldn't get any worse, it ratcheted up to a whole new level, almost robbing him of the ability to draw breath. _Please don't make me…_

His silent pleas fell on deaf ears. Unable to resist, he threw back the thin sheet; swung his legs to the floor. He stood, swaying unsteadily for an instant, struggling to fill his lungs. _That's a good boy. Do as you're told and things will go easier for you_. The pain subsided by a fraction._ Now go, let us in_.

_No! You can't make me! I won't betray him! _he countered silently, determined not to give in to their demands. But despite doing everything in his power to stop them, his feet started moving of their own volition. His small body hugged the wall, slipped unobtrusively out of the room; tripped the sensor that opened the door to the corridor. He started to move unerringly toward … he didn't have the first clue. He was seized by abject terror. _They _were in control. He had no idea where he was going, but _they _seemed to have an agenda. _Keep moving_ was the only thought that echoed in his head. As long as he kept placing one foot in front of the other, the pain was tolerable. His limbs no longer responded to his own mental instructions, but moved with a singular purpose only _they_ understood.

"Wait!" a female voice from behind him shouted. "Where are you going? You shouldn't be out of bed." He heard rapidly approaching footfalls. In another moment she would catch him, preventing him from carrying out their orders. _They_ wouldn't let that happen. Inexplicably he was running, the energy to do so supplied by those who were controlling him, panic superseding the pain. It seemed he was not the only one who was terrified.

Plunging blindly onward, he was soon met by a stampede of booted feet behind him. He fervently wanted to stop, let his pursuers catch him, wrest him from this course of action he knew would somehow result in the destruction of everyone around him, but any attempts to do so caused a blinding pain that would surely crush his skull. The decision no longer in his hands, he pushed on, legs and arms pumping furiously, keeping him just out of reach of the throng of red and black bodies behind him. Phaser blasts exploded all around him, but _they_ kept him moving, helped him to indiscriminately dart from side to side, avoiding the lethal flashes of ruby light.

Suddenly, there it was. He'd made it. He was overwhelmed by relief that was not his own. Putting on a burst of speed he rushed through the oversized doors, hitting the switch to lock them behind him, effectively cutting him off from those intent on stopping him from fulfilling _their_ wishes. He entered the clear control booth, eyes drawn to the kaleidoscope of blinking lights on the panel before him. _That one,_ the voices inside his head instructed him. He slapped his palm on a large button. At once the stories-tall doors at the extreme aft end of the vessel parted, opening the cavernous room to the vacuum of space.

_They_ started pouring in through the breach—a swarm a million strong. The simultaneous buzzing of the huge mass of one-celled organisms created a deafening din, drowned out only by his harsh, ragged breathing.

_Now open the others,_ the mind-voice instructed, _let us in_, and once again his hand found a button which once depressed, would grant the parasitic horde access to the interior of the ship, and the people within. He chewed his lower lip, finger hovering over the control. Suddenly, it all became terrifyingly clear. If he did this, everyone would die. He fought the impulse with every fiber of his being, but the pain became so intense he nearly blacked out, his body rigid with the effort to defy them. _I can't_, he pleaded in his head_. He'll be so angry with me._ But _they_ didn't care.

_Do it, or we'll kill you._

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, thumbing the control. He turned away, unable to watch, collapsing over the console. As the murderous cloud disappeared through the gap he had created, the door to the control room whooshed open, and he was hauled to his feet by strong hands on his shoulders. Roughly, the hands spun him to face his captor. Panic seized him; panic, and shame. He hadn't been strong enough. He felt the tears well up once again.

"What have you done?!" a familiar voice bellowed at him. The man's face was livid, mere inches from his own, beads of sweat standing out on the wide brow. "Those things will kill everyone aboard my ship!"

"I'm sorry," he heard himself stammer. "_They_ made me do it." The tears were running down his cheeks now. "I couldn't help it, Uncle Jim. I tried to resist them, really I did. But I'm not strong like you," he finished miserably. The hands tightened, shaking him, as the voice changed.

"Peter. Peter, wake up! It's okay. You were dreaming again."

He opened his eyes, found himself staring into a pair of worried hazel ones.

He sat up. It took him a moment to identify the person before him. "Grandma, it's all my fault," he choked out. "They're all dead because of me—Uncle Jim and his whole crew. I wasn't brave enough; strong enough. They made me let them in." A small lip trembled. "_They _killed them all. Just like they killed my parents."

"No. You were dreaming. The creatures are all dead. Your uncle Jim—my Jimmy—killed them before they could hurt anyone else." Suddenly her voice sounded very far away. "Before they could take anyone else from me." Soft hands gently grasped the sides of his face, brushed the damp hair from his forehead. "You didn't do anything wrong, do you hear me? You were _very_ brave. You're the bravest boy I know, and your uncle Jim and I are both so very proud of you."

Time stood still as he strove to separate the surreal dream world from the current reality. His eyes swept over his surroundings. He was in his dad and Uncle Jim's old bedroom in the ancient farmhouse of their youth, not his home on Deneva, or his uncle's sleek, modern ship. He looked to the woman before him again. "Grandma…?"

She gently enfolded him in her arms. "It's okay, Peter. You're here with me, at home, safe, and so are your uncle Jim and his ship. Those things are gone, and will never hurt anyone again. It was just a nightmare."

He clung to her, sobs of fear, sorrow, guilt, anger and frustration wracking his slender form as he leaned into her protective embrace. She comforted him as best she could. He could feel the pain and anguish slowly ebbing away, absorbed and dispersed by the woman holding him.

"It's okay, let it out," she encouraged as his tears soaked her shoulder. "I know it hurts," she crooned.

It had seemed so real. Was the reason he couldn't bear to sleep with any of the windows or the door to his bedroom open, no matter how stuffy or oppressive the space within became. Why the indiscriminate buzzing of insects—be they mosquitoes, flies, or bees—had the power to send him into a cold sweat; caused him to recall that terrifying moment as he'd watched his father's face contort in pain. A horrific scream had erupted from his dad's throat as the man collapsed to the floor, his mom struggling to plug an air vent. That was his last conscious memory of Deneva, of his parents. He knew the creatures were gone, but the irrational fear remained. If things like them were out there, what else hadn't they discovered yet? Monsters were real, despite adults' assurances to the contrary. Knowing that, how could he ever feel safe again?

"We're not safe, any of us," he whispered weakly. "What if something like them makes its way to Earth?"

"You're right. There's no guarantee that something else isn't out there that could hurt us, but that's what Starfleet is for. What ships like your Uncle Jim's do—they protect us from the bad things."

He pushed himself from her arms, met her gaze. "But he was too late to save my parents," Peter insisted, voice quivering.

"Yes, I know. But a million other lives were saved, and those on the other colonies that were in the path of the creatures. It's never perfect. There are no guarantees in life, but we can't live our lives in fear of what might be. It's a given that people will die in the pursuit of knowledge and exploration, but can you imagine how much worse it would have been if humans hadn't had the courage to leave Earth? We would've had no way to fight them. All we can do is keep learning, and striving to improve ourselves, and trust that there are those who will always figure out a way to keep us safe. That's not to say some people won't die in the process, but we should be appreciative of their sacrifice, for it will contribute to serving the greater good. Yes, our family had to make a terrible sacrifice, as did other families, not just on Deneva but throughout recorded history. But think how many lives were saved over the millennia. I know that's what your parents would have done, and they'd be thankful that their sacrifice helped to save you and countless others."

Her voice became tender, hopeful. "That could be you, someday. You might be the one who is responsible for figuring out a way to save millions of lives, just like Jimmy and his crew did. It could be the reason you were spared. You've been given a second chance, Peter. Don't spend it being afraid. That's not what your parents would have wanted for you. It's not what I and your uncle Jim want for you. How we face our fears determines who we are. Like I said before, you're the bravest boy I know. You'll get past this, I know you will. And I'll be there to help you every step of the way."

He hugged her close again, before releasing her. He wiped a forearm across his eyes, brushing away the tears that lingered there. She was right. That was how he would honor his parents and his uncle. Someday he'd be willing to put himself in harm's way if it would help others. Right now he was still afraid, but he wouldn't let that stop him. He wouldn't let them win.

FINIS

A/N: This is told through the eyes of Kirk's ten-year-old nephew, Peter. Even though the pain generated by the creatures that infected him left him unconscious for the entire episode, I feel there must have been some point on Deneva when he was aware of what the parasites were doing to him, and he must have heard details about the desperate bid to destroy the creatures after the Enterprise arrived from the adults around him. It just seemed natural that this experience would leave an indelible mark on him that would haunt him for some time to come, and that it would manifest in his dreams.


End file.
